


Pits and Stars

by HathorAroha



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Mention of Rachel Amber
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21510856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HathorAroha/pseuds/HathorAroha
Summary: It is Max who lies in the pit in the junkyard, it is Max who awakes her from nightmare to reality, and it is Max who reassures her that the stars are still full of life, not all dead and dark as Chloe once believed.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Pits and Stars

The same fucking nightmare again. Junkyard. Daytime. _That_ fucking Thursday again. Chloe’s truck empty save for her as she swerves away from the barn, not caring how fast she drives to the junkyard, her home away from home, her American Rust, where she could be herself. She needs Rachel, needs Max, where were they, oh god, why did everyone abandon her? 

“Come, on, come on!” Chloe snaps at her clanking, shuddering truck, heart hammering, knuckles white as she digs her nails into the steering wheel, shoulders hunching up under her leather jacket, the trio of bullets on her necklace chilly against her vest. How she would like to use one of those bullets on Nathan Prescott, blow out his brains to high heaven. 

_Come on, come on, don’t give up on me, truck!_

Chloe glares ahead at the road, the white lines mere blurs on the tarmac, the red folders with their monochrome images of victims tied up and photographed in such disturbing positions…and her best friend among them–looming scarlet and grey before her. The last person on Earth who would ever, _ever–_

She _had_ to be posing, she posed for those shots, but that was not like her, so not like her best friend, why would she–where is she? Why isn’t she here? She had to be, her partner in crime, her sidekick as they conquered the high seas. She should have been in the seat next to Chloe, but her place is empty, so empty, and Chloe refuses to glance over, lest she freaks out more than she is already. Where is she, her partner in crime and time? Just when she needs her most, she’s not there. So _like_ her! So _like_ someone who abandoned her for five years without a call or text, _and_ had been in Arcadia Bay for one month without calling her. Asshole. 

But oh god, she forgave, _would forgive again and again_ , her in a heartbeat, in a breath. She’d love her again and again and oh god why would she, _where is she_ –buried somewhere? No. She had to be alive. 

American Rust now right in front of her, Chloe slams her foot on the brakes, sending herself lurching into the steering wheel as the truck comes to a sudden halt. Ignoring the jolt of pain strumming through her ribs–it’s sure to leave a bruise–she kicks the door open, leaping down to the ground, hitting the dirt in a sprint, straight for the spot she knew she was buried. But she had to be alive somehow, oh god, please, be alive, be alive somehow! She couldn’t live without her, couldn’t–

_Crunch,_ goes something under Chloe’s foot as she stumbles away from her truck, legs weak, her breaths coming hard and fast, eyes wild with panic. She chances a glance down at the ground, sees that she has stepped on a camera not unlike the one she gave to Max. Her father’s camera. Now Max’s camera. There’s no time to stop and pick up the remains, she has to go to that spot she _knows_ is the place her soulmate is buried–no, not buried. Just hiding. Hiding. She _posed_ for those photos. But not willingly, surely not! Her eyes had been glazed, a hint of defiance and quiet fury in her eyes. A survivor. She was always a survivor. Her, dead? 

_Not dead. Not dead. Not dead!_

Chloe sets off at a run, her feet pounding hard against the dirt, crunching cameras underfoot as she tears across the dirt, clearing debris and narrowly avoiding smacking into wrecks that once had been beloved, fully functioning cars. She never stops to question why a path of cameras, just cameras cemented together like stones on a walkway, has materialised before her. Doesn’t question why she thinks it’s Max, not Rachel, who lies somewhere–she knows, she knows where–who is buried here in this junkyard. 

_Max! Max! Come on, where are you!_

_“MAX!”  
_

Chloe collapses to her knees with a thud that should have sent jolts of pain up her legs, but she feels nothing, nothing but the dirt under her nails and hard earth under her knees as she claws away at the place she _knows_ Max is buried. 

“MAX! Please!” 

She is still clawing, half-crying, half-screaming as the stench of rotten flesh and putrification clogs her nostrils, her mouth, her throat, landing heavy and putrid in her stomach. 

“Max, no, no, fuck no! MAX!” 

Dirt gives way under her hands to the warm, sickly feel of plastic, plastic full of a rotting body; the only thing Chloe can see of her is her short brown hair, her half-rotten face, a camera glinting mere inches away. 

“MAX! Max! NO!” 

The smell overpowers Chloe so much she throws up right there and then into the pit, her stomach wrenching violently, twisting itself inside her very body as she grips herself around the waist with her arms. 

“Max! Max! Please god no, not you! MAX!” 

Blinded by tears, Chloe half crawls, half stumbles away from the pit, bending double as she throws up again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, not caring who heard her sobs. Not until hands grips her shoulders, and someone is bending over her, their shadow pooling on the ground under her. And it’s her voice, _her_ voice. 

“Chloe! Chloe, wake up!” 

If only she could! Jesus Christ, why couldn’t she–

“ _Chloe!_ Wake up! CHLOE!” 

The hands are shaking her roughly now, and Chloe wakes up with a violent jerk, head smacking into Max’s–

Max! Max alive and well next to her, her face a dark smudge in the moonless night. 

“Chloe! God, you scared me!” Max’s hands come up to cup Chloe’s face, and oh god, it is such a relief to feel her warm hands on her cheeks that Chloe closes her eyes, relishing her touch, her closeness, the warmth radiating from Max, for just a moment. Alive. Max is alive. Here. With her. “You were literally screaming my name! Chloe, talk to me!” 

Chloe’s stomach lurches in violent nausea, acrid bile sticking to the back of her throat, and she’s convinced that unless she gets out of the truck now, she will throw up right there and then. She pulls away from Max, scrabbles to open the truck door with a hand. 

“I–I need air.”

Chloe unlatches the door, kicking it open with a foot before jumping out onto the grass below, stumbling a few steps away before collapsing on her hands and knees, stomach convulsing as she throws up whatever was left of her dinner. Despite her state, the still air is cool on her skin, taking away the gross icky feel of sweat on her forehead and neck. The cool grass under her palms and tickling the web of skin between her thumb and finger has a strange calming effect on her, grounding her to this reality, this one, the one she is living in. The one with Max alive in it. Not dead in a plastic bag in the junkyard like…

_Like Rachel Amber._

Her face is wet, and she wipes her eyes with her hands, at the same time hearing soft footfalls approach her, and then someone kneeling next to her, their hands on her shoulders, leaning into her side, so close that strands of their short hair brushes against the side of her face.

“Chloe?” Max’s voice is no more than a whisper, her word a puff of air against Chloe’s cheek. 

Chloe hates the way her hands shake like two leaves in a strong gale, and she closes them into fists to force them to stop and so Max wouldn’t see. She pulls back her hands into her lap, kneeling now on the grass, shoulders slumped, still feeling as sick as ever. 

“Another fucking nightmare, Max,” Chloe suppresses a shudder, head still bowed. “Junkyard again.” 

“Oh, god. Chloe, that’s…” Max’s arms wind around Chloe’s shoulders, her body warm and heavy against hers as she holds her close. “That’s so fucked up,” Max whispers. “So fucked up.” 

“What’s even more fucked up, Max, is…” 

“Go on…” 

“It wasn’t Rachel Amber in there. It was–it was–” 

“Holy _shit_ , is that why you were screaming my name?” 

“It certainly wasn’t because it was a _good_ dream.” 

“God, Chloe, that’s–” Max sounds like she wants to be sick now. “That’s–” 

“Completely and utterly fucked up?” 

Chloe feels Max lean her head against the back of her neck, and she brings up a hand to hold Max’s arm that’s wound around her chest. If only she could freeze this moment in time, with Max holding her close, her warm weight and presence calming her down from the horrific nightmare. Tight, stiff muscles in her neck already feel like they’re relaxing again, especially with Max leaning her head against her back, holding her like she’d never let go. Chloe never wanted her to let go. 

_God. Why did it have to be_ Max _not Rachel in there? Fuck you, brain. Just…fuck you._

“I’m here, Chloe, I’m here,” Max whispers, “This is reality. I’m here. Alive. With you.” 

_This is reality._

“Fuck this. Fuck everything that happened to Rachel, to you, to Kate…” Chloe’s fingers tighten on Max’s arm. “Why? Why did it have to be _us?_ What have we fucking _done_ to deserve our lives dipped in shit like this, Max? Why? What kind of world is this that does this to us? To Arcadia Bay?” 

“I wish I knew, Chloe…” 

“We’re gonna be screwed up inside for the rest of our lives. It’s shit. We’re fucking teenagers! Talk about fucked up.” 

“We’ve still got each other. I’m never leaving you.”

“I know, Max,” Chloe’s voice threatens to wobble, and she swallows hard to try and control it. “Neither am I.” 

Chloe lets Max hold her for a few minutes, sagging into her arms, not daring to close her eyes, least the vivid image of Max in that goddamn pit from her nightmare burn like wildfire out of control on the whirlwind of a teen girl’s scream of grief and rage. 

_Like Rachel’s._

Chloe catches her mind drifting back to _that_ day, and she forces herself not to recall a plastic bag, a puddle of blonde hair, and the stench, oh _god the stench_ –

Stop. 

Stop. No. _Stop._ She was here. Now. With Max holding her close, even as Chloe still bent over double, head still light from nausea, and perspiration cold on her forehead. 

No, she has to focus now. Not slip back into the past. Just focus here. On the present. Now. Max’s arms around her, the way she is so warm against her despite the nippy night air, how one of Max’s hands reached up just enough to lose her fingers in Chloe’s hair, nails scratching lightly against her scalp. The way she moves her head so her forehead now rests against Chloe’s neck, lips pressing a gentle kiss into her shoulder blade. 

She hates to break the moment, but Chloe could now feel her legs getting numb from the constant kneeling; she’s going to get serious pins and needles once she stands up again. God, she needed something to calm her down, and while Max was more than enough of a soothing influence, she wasn’t a joint of weed, and that’s exactly what Chloe needed right now. 

“Max?” 

The arms loosen around Chloe, Max straightening up just enough to look Chloe in the eye. Even in the dark, Chloe can see her hair has already grown a little longer. Max touches a hand to Chloe’s cheek, and she leans in to it, hungry for all the reminders that she is here, not dead and hastily buried. 

“How’re you feeling?” Max asks. 

“I need a goddamn smoke, now..” 

“Not inside the truck, Chloe.” 

“Nah, think I need to just sit in the back for a bit with a joint. Self-medication, you know.” 

“Want me to leave you alone for a bit?” 

“Join me if you want.” 

“Sure?” 

“Actually yeah, pretty damn sure. Bring out a blanket too if you want.” 

Max lets go of her, standing up at the same time Chloe gets onto her own feet, breath hissing between her teeth as pins and needles shoot up her legs, knees nearly buckling from having turned numb. She would’ve sunk to the ground again if it weren’t for Max catching her in time, her hands gripping Chloe’s arms, holding her up. 

“Need me to help you to the truck?” 

“It’s fine, just waiting for my legs to stop hating me. Pins and needles suck ass.” 

Max winces sympathetically. “Ouch. I know that feeling.” 

Chloe waits until the pins and needles have mostly subsided away before returning to the truck, reaching inside for the ashtray on the dashboard and the spare rolls of smokes somewhere in the glovebox, while Max extracts a thick blanket large enough to cover both of them in the back of the truck, protecting them from the night air. 

Smokes and tray in hand, she walks to the back of the truck, dropping in her goods before pulling herself up and over, leaning her back up against the back window of the truck, stretching her legs out before her. She can hear rattling and a soft blanket being thrown over the side. 

“Need a hand up, Max?” 

A grunt from behind the truck, before Max’s head appears, followed by her shoulders. 

“I’m good, thanks,” Max says, “Short but not that short. That growth spurt might still come…” 

Chloe grabs the blanket, shaking it out as Max slings her legs over, half-falling onto the floor of the truck trailer.

“Sure, Caulfield.” 

Max shuffles over to Chloe, settling herself on the floor next to her. 

“Let a girl hope, Chloe.” 

“You’ll still be hoping when you’re twenty-eight, thirty-eight, sixty-eight.” 

“Shut up.” 

Chloe slings an arm around Max’s shoulders as the latter settles her head on her shoulder, one hand resting lightly on Chloe’s knee, fingers lightly playing with the fabric of her jeans. With their free hands, they pull the blanket up over their legs, chasing away the cool night air. It feels so good to have Max next to her, reminding her she’s not alone, she’s not going to be abandoned anytime soon.

_Alive. She’s okay._

She still can’t quite shake that image away, and Chloe tilts her head back, gazing up at the stars as if they might chase away the last dredges of that fucking nightmare. Instead, they remind her of a conversation she’d once had with Rachel. All the stars are dead. Every one of them. 

“I’d hate to be an astronomer,” Chloe finds herself saying, “Must be depressing.” 

“Says the girl who had solar system models in her room as a kid and wouldn’t shut up about Mars.” 

“The planets don’t give off light, so they’re good as dead anyway. But the stars…we were talking about them once–Rachel and I. She used to love the stars, until she found out their light takes so long to reach us they’re already dead.” 

“Really?” 

“Pretty shit really.” 

Max stays quiet for a few moments, tilting her head back a little, until she is looking at the stars as Chloe was. 

“This is going to sound so nerdy of me,” Max remarks after a time, “but on the night of the day I discovered my powers, I stayed up all night researching physics and time travel.” 

“No you didn’t.” 

“You should’ve seen all the notes I wrote–sticky-note city.” 

“So you like physics now?” 

“Umm…no. I just wanted to find out more about time travel theories.” 

“And?” 

A moment of silence. “I ended up going down so many tangents.” 

“That’s what happens when you research shit. Even bad shit.”

“One of the tangents led to an article on stars.” 

“Got there from some article about using black holes as wormholes to another reality?” 

“I don’t even remember anymore, but it’s likely.” 

“Black holes always terrified the shit out of me.” 

“They’re scary, alright. And just a little creepy.” 

“Hella fucking creepy.”

“But…I also found out a little more about stars in general.”

“Okay, Miss Stellar Physicist, tell me everything you know.”

_Anything to distract me. The stars are as good as anything._

“First, they’re not all dead. It’s trippy to think about, but the sun is a star. Weird, right? I mean, not that it’s a star–that’s not weird–it’s just…thinking that the thing we see every day is a star just like all those other ones up there. It’s weird.” An exhalation, like that of someone who just had their mind blown. “Wowzers.” 

“Don’t they already teach kids that in school anyway?” 

“Yeah…but when you really stop and actually take time to think about it–and it’s just…weird to think that the sun really is like all those other stars out there. Or I had too much time on my hands.” 

Chloe can’t resist a grin. “Technically, yes, you do. All the time in the world to ponder the sun being a star.” 

“I admit, I _did_ rewind a lot during that all-nighter.” 

“Of course you did. Who wouldn’t? You did do _some_ homework during that all-nighter, right?” 

“Didn’t cross my mind. And since when did you care about homework?” 

“Eat me. What else did you find?” 

“Not all stars live fast and die young. The smallest and coolest ones can live for trillions of years. White dwarfs I think.” 

“White dwarfs? They’re the dead husks of stars. Zombies.” 

“Oh…I remember it was a dwarf star anyway.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

Max’s eyes seem to shine with the light of stars as she shifts to look up at Chloe. “It’s not all zombies and ghosts up there, Chloe. The universe is still alive. Like us. We’re here, we’re real. We’ll make this work for us. I want to believe there’s a better future.” 

“Onward to Seattle, right?” 

“I’m not even sure I’ll go back to school,” Max’s pinkie finds Chloe’s, hooks it through hers. “It would feel…weird. And lonely. What if I never like photography again? After what happened back in Arcadia Bay…” 

“You’ll find it again,” Chloe says, trying to put as much conviction in her words as she can, “Fuck Jefferson for all of this. If anyone is to blame for taking away your love of photography, it’s him, not you. Never you.” 

“This is going to sound horrible, but…” a deep sigh. “Part of me wants to give your camera back to you. I feel like I’ll never use it again.” 

_Fuck you, Mr Jefferson. I hope_ you _get sucked down a black hole and feel every bit of the spaghettification along the way. Go rot in fucking hell for destroying Max’s love for photography._

“Hey, I won’t be offended if you do, Max. I’ll hang on to it until you’re ready.” 

“Whenever ‘ready’ will be.” 

“Whether it’s tomorrow or twenty years, I’ll make sure it’s waiting for you to pick it up again.” 

“Twenty years? Will film even be around then?” 

“There’s always going to be hippies like you who still love film. Of course it’ll be around in twenty years.” 

“Can’t imagine being so old. I’ll be thirty-eight.” 

“Gee, you’ll be so young. I’ll be thirty-nine. I’ll be the oldest pirate from Arcadia Bay. I’ll have earned my two wooden legs by then. _So_ old.” 

“Not as old as the stars.” 

“Nearly as dead.” 

“Come on, Chloe, we’ll still have our adventures even then, right? We might not be pirates of Arcadia Bay anymore, but we’ll have each other.” 

“We need to upgrade. Twenty years is enough time to become space pirates, right?” 

Max’s smile is beautiful, even in the dark. “Space pirates on our way to Mars?” 

“Take over Olympus Mons while we can. I have dibs on Curiosity.” 

Max pouts, “Not fair, Chloe. At least share.” 

“No. There’s plenty of other robots on that planet for you to call dibs on.” 

"Fine.. Oppy and Spirit are all mine.” 

“Deal.” 

Chloe reaches out with a hand to her ashtray, taking a joint between her index and middle fingers, bringing it to her mouth, her inhalation long and slow before she removes the smoke and exhales smoke into the night, watching it curl with the wind to the stars. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind my hair smelling like weed, Chloe.”

“Smartass.” 

Max huddles close to her, a leg hooking over Chloe’s. Already, Chloe can feel her nightmare disappearing, its last dredges of horror slipping away from newly refreshed thoughts and distraction in the form of Max and their banter, and the burning stars rotating through the night high above their heads. And somewhere up there, surely, someone else was watching, assured of her triumphant revenge on Arcadia Bay. 

_I hope you’re watching us from those stars, Rachel Amber. You would totally have joined us in our pirate misadventures, wherever we went. Today, Seattle, tomorrow the universe. We’ll kick the world’s ass together, for you, in your name. You’ll always be my angel._

**Author's Note:**

> For those whose curiosity has been perked, let me take the opportunity in the spirit of learning to say that the kind of star Max was thinking of is known as a "red dwarf" star, which is the longest-lived type of star that we know of, lasting for trillions of years at minimum before dying and becoming a white dwarf. They are also the dimmest and coolest (hence why they're red) stars, as well as the most common, making up about three quarters of the stars in our neck of the Milky Way; but we just are unable to see them because of their size and dimness. "Spaghettification" is essentially what happens should you be foolish enough to wander into a black hole's grip: your body would be stretched so much by its powerful gravity your feet would be a hell of a lot farther than your head, stretching away until you're a stream of atoms pulled apart by the black hole. Sweet dreams! 
> 
> Also, let it be known that I legit once thought THIRTY was middle-aged...back when I was twenty-ish years old. Let me make it clear as someone who is now 31: this is definitely not middle-age territory. I have not yet earned my wooden legs nor eye patch. Not yet. ;) 
> 
> And I cannot believe it took me nearly two weeks just to finish this--hit a giant wall for some reason, and didn't know how to battle it until I decided "fuck it, I'm just gonna smash this wall again and again until this thing's actually finally done and dusted."


End file.
